O Captain! My Captain!
by Champagne and Blood
Summary: October 13, 2012. Game One of the ALCS against the Detroit Tigers. It's the top of the 12th inning and The Captain is down. Derek Jeter's injury through the eyes of Alex Rodriguez.


Alright so Derek Jeter is my hero and I have grown up watching him play baseball. I am a die-hard Yankee fan and I remember watching the game that Saturday (technically it was Sunday morning because it went into extra innings past midnight but whatever) and I was completely broken. He's been playing on a bad ankle for quite some time now and I know it was a struggle for him, but he kept playing. Every time Derek Jeter falls, he gets back up and he didn't get back up this time. To watch him fall and see him scream in pain as he hit the floor and then even though he injured himself, still try and get the ball to first, was heartbreaking. Even when he's injured he still plays. Every. Single. Time. If that isn't love for the game, I don't know what the hell is.

Long story short, I cried the whole rest of that Sunday and I've been eating my feelings and writing fanfiction, so I wrote this as a way to cope. **It's in Alex's point of view** because well, he's Derek's friend (and between you and me, they're my guilty pleasure ship so this is derek/alex if you squint) and I only thought it was fair. I didn't publish it until now because I wasn't sure that I wanted to,but I have decided that I will. Now that he's had surgery and he's going to be alright, I'm better and I'm patiently waiting through the 160-something days until Opening Day at Yankee Stadium next year. :)

* * *

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;  
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;  
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,  
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, where on the deck my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;  
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;  
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;  
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

O captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;  
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;  
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;  
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, walk the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead.

* * *

October 13, 2012. Game One of the ALCS against the Detroit Tigers. It's the top of the 12th inning and I just wish it would end already.

I'm out of the game, pissed off at the Tigers and mostly myself for this game. Watching your team from the dugout has got to be one of the shittiest feelings in the world. Joe knows what I'm thinking, but doesn't say anything. Another huge blow to us is our hitting went to shit during this post-season. This game has been a roller coaster and I think even he wants off the ride.

There is one out with Don Kelly as the runner on second and Jhonny Peralta at the plate. 2-2 count. Andy fires another ball from the mound. _All we need is another strike_…and I spoke too soon. Peralta grounds it in between shortstop and second base and into the waiting glove of Derek Jeter. _At least that'll be another out, _I think, the smallest feeling of hope crept inside me. He gets to it on time and I watch as Derek scoops the ball up in his glove. It's become a routine. 'A typical Jeter play' as anyone in baseball would call it because Derek is a star. He's been doing this almost his whole life.

Derek falls and rolls over, I see him yell something with a pained expression on his face. _What was he saying? _I curse under my breath as I ask myself that question, thinking that if I was out there I would have heard it. Though he has fallen over, Derek still tires to get the ball _somewhere._ Typical of him. He lobs it over to second and it falls short. Robinson Cano doesn't seem to care and lazily picks up the ball, knowing he won't make either play in time. Robbie doesn't take his eyes off of Derek on the ground. I know he's waiting. Waiting like the rest of us, for Derek to pop back up, spring back to life, and criticize himself for missing the play.

But Derek does not get up. He is lying on his side in the dirt and he honestly does not look like Derek Jeter right now. He looks hurt. It all happened so fast that I wasn't sure it _had_ happened. I realized then that he landed on his ankle.

The dugout has come to life now, we had stopped wallowing in our own despair. Everyone's heads are out from under the roof and watching Derek.

"He's not getting up," Jorge, who is sitting next to me, says in barely a whisper.

I stay silent because I physically cannot bring myself to speak. I might be in shock.

"Why the hell isn't he getting up, Alex?" Jorge asks, louder this time. The question wasn't asked by him in anger, it sounds more along the lines of _broken_. Derek always gets up. He is Derek-Fucking-Jeter for Christ's sake. He'll play through anything. That's who he is. _This_ is who he is. When people call it 'A typical Jeter play' that includes him jumping back up. That is part of the play.

Derek still attempts to get up one last time, which everyone knew that would. As long as I have known him, Derek has shown in every way possible that he is no quitter. He is on his stomach now. He lays his head down and I can imagine the "fuck" he must have screamed into the dirt of the infield. Now he looks up, over at us. His eyes are pleading. He needs help.

Derek is not weak and he does not want anyone else to think he is weak. Not us, not Joe, and especially not the fans at Yankee stadium. He is our captain. He is _The_ Captain. He carries this team.

October 13, 2012. Game One of the ALCS against the Detroit Tigers. It's the top of the 12th inning and The Captain is down.

Robbie jogs over and crouches in front of him. He had probably been in a shock like I was currently and suffered the delayed reaction. I wonder about what they're saying to each other. Derek rolls on his side, but quickly accepts the defeat and he returns to lying on his stomach. Mark runs over and crouches by them. I want to punch the dugout wall. I would be out there for him too if I was still in the fucking game.

We hear nothing from Joe as he's now being called on the field. Steve Donohue runs out and Joe follows close behind. I notice that he follows much slower, as if he's in some sort of dream.

I feel as if I'm in a dream as well. Derek Jeter has fallen and he's not getting up and I don't know what to do. I don't even realize that I am walking closer to the edge of the dugout. I think I may have even walked on to the god damn field if CC hadn't grabbed my shoulder at that moment and held me back. I don't turn to look at him; my eyes are kept on the field.

Yankee stadium is silent, or maybe I just think it is. It's also cold, or maybe that's just because it's October in the Bronx and it's always cold. Still, I get a chill like I've never felt before.

Derek says something to Joe and Steve when they arrive in front of him. I can't hear what it is, but I want to.

Joe nods slightly and then the impossible happens. Derek is being lifted up by Steve and Joe. They don't carry him, just put him around their shoulders and help him walk off the field. No pressure is being applied to his left foot. _It's the fucking ankle, I knew it._ They help him towards the dugout.

I suddenly want to know what Derek said to Joe. Those could be his last words of this game. Those could be his last words of the series. Those could be the last words of his baseball career. The world seems to have sort of an obsession with last words and now I understand why. Derek will remember them because if they're the last words he speaks on that field, they might as well be the last words of his existence. There is no Derek Jeter without baseball.

I'm not even sure there is baseball without Derek Jeter.

Yankee stadium is being brought back to life with claps and cheers as our Captain is being helped out of the game. The chants of "Derek Jeter" have started and they are louder than I have ever heard them before. The fans mean well, but I know it's tearing Derek apart. He feels like he's failed them, even though nothing of this is his fault. He feels weak, even though he is honestly the toughest player in baseball.

It's morbidly poetic, this maybe career-ending injury happening during the game he loves, in the uniform he loves, and at the stadium he loves. Derek jokes that Baseball will be the death of him and I know that he would want to die a Yankee.

They are closer to the dugout now and I turn, walking down the stairs to the clubhouse and I wait. Another trainer walks up the stairs and waits at the top next to Raul Ibanez, who has now appeared and is waiting for them to arrive as well. When they get in the dugout, Derek is passed from Joe's shoulder to Raul's, wordlessly. They help him down the stairs and he's taken to the Trainer's room. I catch his eye as he's brought past me and I don't know what to say or do. I just stare and he stares back.

He's in there for a while. I don't know who is with him or what is happening, but I can't feel anything. I'm numb.

We don't win this game, but I don't think anyone can think about the loss right now, all we can think about is Derek.

When we hear that it's a broken ankle, nobody knows how to react. Most of us get to talk to him, me being the last. When I walk into the room, he is stoic and doesn't speak. =

"Derek," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He looks up into my eyes and I hate the look on his face. He looks cold and emotionless. I can only imagine the look on his face when they told him.

"How bad is it?" I ask even though I already know the answer.

"I'm done, Alex. I can't play on it," his tone is even. It sounds calm, but he's obviously feeling the opposite of calm right now. He's out for the season. Derek Jeter cannot play baseball. The doctor had to tell him twice so he would understand.

The numbness is gone when the feelings slam into me all at once. Mentally, a train is crashing into me. The thought is almost making me physically fall down. I feel my heart shatter into one million pieces. I feel my stomach knot up. I feel my throat close. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to do something, but I don't know how. This isn't fair. This is just _not fair_. I am feeling so much that it's _too_ much and I don't even feel worthy enough to get all of these emotions because I am not sitting in his spot right now. I am not Derek Jeter. A voice somewhere in my head says_ Derek is not crying or screaming or doing anything even though he wants to, so shut up and take it. Do it for him. _

So I don't scream or cry or even react. I don't do anything and I wont do anything until he does. I stay silent as he tells me in a little more detail about what is going to happen. Basically I am told I have to continue without him. As I embrace Derek before I exit the room, I ask myself the question I have never wanted to ask.

How do I continue without my Captain?


End file.
